If I Had A Million Dollars
by Sakura Sango
Summary: ...I'd buy your love. Somehow England just knew he would regret his drunken one night stand. A regret that was renewed every time those meeting doors opened to show the proclamation of love for that week.


Title: If I Had A Million Dollars.

Author: Saku

Fandom: Hetalia

Pairing: Japan/England

Table: Song lyrics

Prompt: Barenaked Ladies - If I Had A Million Dollars

Rating: R

Warnings: non-explicated sex, slight swearing

Word Count: ~2800

Summary: Out of the corner of his eye England tries to think again of yet another way to explain to the Asian nation that he did not love him. And again he swears off all alcohol.

A/N: This is written for a charity auction, and for a wonderful person who donated for a series of fics (all of different fandoms). But this is the Hetalia one she wanted. I'm just so sorry it was so delayed. Thank you for your patience.

This story became more crack then serious, just because of the song. I hope someone out there likes it.

_x-x-x-_

"_If I had a million dollars  
I'd buy your love"_

_~'If I Had A Million Dollars' By: Barenaked Ladies_

_x-x-x- _

_Nails rake down the smooth back as England feels his body jolt. His voice cracks as he screams, eyes rolling back. Artfully he arches his back, his breath hitching as he feels his end coming fast. Teeth dig into his lip, stifling some of the more unsightly noises that come from his mouth._

_Above him, though the clouded haze, he can see the dark haired nation above him whispering something but the words are lost to him as his pulse drowns out everything except for his moans. But he barely finds himself caring about what sweet nothings he can be missing._

_Legs wrap around the thin waist of the other man as arms wrap around the pale neck. Whimpering England holds tightly as he feels his end rushing forward. With a broken cry- and words in a language he can barely remember using hundreds of years ago- England reaches his peak before collapsing back onto the mattress, legs and arms still tangled lightly around the thin nation above him._

_He feels- more then hears- his bed partner reach his end before collapsing atop of him. Slow movements soon find the two lying beside each other on the small bed (and again England notices just how uncomfortable this bed is). _

_Lazy kisses are shared as the two wrap themselves up in each other's arms. Fingers caress just to touch and not arouse, England doubts he would be able to go a second round anyways. The sheet that covers them feels heavenly against his flushed skin._

_Before he knows it, and much too soon for his liking, England feels himself drift off to sleep in the other nation's arms. As the last of his consciousness drifts away he swears he can hear a whisper something- something that sounds close to 'we'll be together forever now.' If he had been more alert, England would have questioned it. However he can barely lift his chin up towards the other's face before he falls asleep._

_x-x-x-_

The sun is brutal to the hung over nation, as it half blinds him. Moaning England clamps his eyes shut tightly as he tries to dig deeper into the blankets and pillows. Even through his clenched eyes the distraught nation winces at the brightness that his closed lids still let in. It takes a couple frenzied flails of his arm to find the thick comforter- at least something to block out the sun a little better then the thin, snowy sheet that mocks him- that had been pushed to the bottom of the bed. Quickly he tugs it up, all the while keeping his eyes shut tightly. He _refuses_ to face the sun so early in the morning.

Sighing as he finds refuge from the blinding light under the thick comforter, England finds himself able to open his eyes for the first time. Slowly he blinks, hands clapping over his mouth as wave after wave of nausea hits him with the simplest movements. Even his eyes rolling to the left is enough to leave him remembering how the deck of his ships used to roll in the wildest storms. Again he is faced with the same seasickness that had plagued him for the first couple of weeks of his pirate days.

"That's the last time I drink EVER," he vows to himself in a promise that he breaks weekly.

Every morning after a wild drinking night he finds himself promising and vowing to the gods above that he will never drink ever again! (Once he had tried to convert himself by practicing Buddhism- that barely lasted until dinner time before he found France's half drank bottle of wine.)

This time though, as he lies on his back staring at the strangely patterned comforter, England knows that this promise will stay for longer- or he hopes. Especially when he _swears_ he can feel the stationary bed roll on invisible waves.

"What did I do last night?" He mutters while staring more at the underside of the comforter. He knows without a doubt that there was none like this at his house. A thought that terrifies him. Quickly, or as quickly as what his muddled and hung over mind will allow, he scans through the common drunken one nights stands.

"France defiantly doesn't have anything this feminine looking." England whispers as he feels the invisible waves slowing. "America would be shouting at me to get up and eat something disgusting. Spain is off the list too."

England had taken Spain off after having to deal with a livid Romano- a fate he _never_ wanted to deal with again (Mafia were scary, enough said)- who had demanded that the British nation get out in three seconds or he would find himself annihilated. Easy to say, England did not need the extra two seconds that he was given as he ran out of the house, leaving half of his clothes behind.

This was starting to scare England a little. Just where had he been last night? And just what the _hell_ had he done! And with who?

As the nausea subsides he finds himself able to move a little easier. The throbbing migraine like headache is one he is used to, one that has become a common weekend venture for him. This was something he could deal with.

However not knowing where he was or who he had been with was something he could not deal with. The fear of the unknown, of not knowing just who he had messed with. _Oh dear god!_, England prays with all of his strength that he did not fall into Romano's arms or even worse Germany's. This was new territory, waking up with his mind completely blank.

Hiding under his little cocoon England holds his breath as he tries to let his other senses pick up any familiar sounds or scents. But, as he starts to feel his head swim from the lack of air, no matter how long he holds his breath, England finds it impossible to pick up on anything.

Again he notices just how uncomfortable the bed is, the mattress being just a little too hard for his liking. Teeth worry his lip as England pauses his muddled thoughts as he focuses on the bed. It felt familiar. He was certain that the bed was familiar, had been for a while. But now…now he knows just where he knew it from.

_This bed felt the same as the one that Japan had offered him when he had stayed over once._

Carefully England finds the strength to tug the comforter down from his face, wincing at the sun that blinds him as he shies away from the bright, morning sun. Looking around he lets his mind take in the room carefully. He stares at the awfully familiar wooden floor and walls, at the samurai sword that hangs from the wall with red tassels moving slightly as the calm breeze outside runs its invisible fingers across them. He stares at the same paintings that had entranced him so last time he was in this room.

It dawns on him of who's room he is currently waking up in.

"Damn it!" England swears as he pounds a fist into the pillow, knuckles brush against the wooden floor and he silently wishes that the planks would just separate enough to swallow him whole. Of all the people he hand wanted to avoid drunken one nights with, why did he have to end up in Japan's house- and arms.

Somehow he had a feeling this would not end up well for him. Sighing he turns onto his side, giving up. What was done was done, there was no need to turn and run out half naked. No need to find a window to climb out of.

"Ahh, so you are awake. I was wondering when you were going to wake up, dear."

England shudders at the tone. And if he was not currently regretting this one night stand, England has a feeling he is about to regret it a thousand times more.

England half dozes as he tries to not let his head slip from the palm of his hand. Germany knew how to take charge of a meeting- to keep America from going though outrageous demands (as if the giant superhero was not bad enough, but to super-size a hamburger to the size of the moon to end world hunger was just getting crazy) and to keep France from trying to do anything lecherous. Though now he had to fight overwhelming fatigue while listening to the muscular nation's monotone voice drone on about the same stuff they all knew.

Eye lids grow heavy as he lets a finger slowly trace circles on the smooth meeting table. His left foot taps out a distress Morse code message and he secretly hopes that someone will relay the message to his friends waiting for him at home. The design becomes more intricate as he tries to focus on his finger and the invisible crossing lines. It helps for a little while, keeps him from collapsing at the moment at least.

A knock breaks his concentration, along with Gremany's droning voice. The blond nation looks up, annoyed at the distraction- his eyes traveling to Italy out of habit before glaring at the wooden door. If looks could kill several daggers would have pierced the wooden door before traveling to the innocent messenger.

"Come in," he calls out in a gruff voice. Irritation plainly heard by everyone in attendance.

And apparently by the messenger too as he stumbles in, stuttering. "P-p-p-package for Arthur Kirkland."

England stares dumbfounded as a small plain brown box is dropped off in front of him, as he half raises his hand in acknowledgement of his human name. His hand drops back into his lap as he stares at the package. There is no return address, no name of sender. Just his name and the meeting's address.

Germany glares for a second more after the door shuts before continuing on, as if he had not been interrupted. But now England does not listen. Instead he stares at the brown package waiting for it to grow legs and a mouth full of razor teeth.

"_Aren't you gonna open it?_" America hisses in his ear, poking his older brother in the shoulder. "_Come on I wanna know what it is!"_

England wants to tell him- hell no. He's not about to touch this package because in the pit of his stomach he can feel that this will end horrible. Yet before he can say anything he finds himself unwrapping the package. Brown paper is ripped away from the box and falls silently to the ground. To his right he can feel France's eyes on him, burning into him as if to try to read his soul.

The tape is easily cut with the tip of a pen as he tugs away the flaps that hold the box shut. Crinkled crimson paper holds the valued item from view. With shaky hands England pulls the paper away, letting it fall onto the thin carpet beside him. The pit in his stomach grows as he sees a small note card with fancy script on it. It only has a short sentence on it, but it is enough to make him want to toss the package out.

"_If I had a million dollars I'd buy your love."_

It is only sheer curiosity (that damned blasted curiosity that kills him every time) as he sets the small card on the smooth tabletop. Looking down he stares at the weirdest- and perhaps ugliest- lime green fabric lying perfectly folded.

Carefully he grabs the fabric and pulls it out of the box. As he lifts the fabric takes a life on its own. Long, bellowing sleeves unfold from the fabric falling beside the fabric that just keeps growing. Fully lifted England stares at the delicate laced neck before letting his eyes travel downwards.

A shrill shriek falls from the ragged nation's lips as he realizes just _what_ he is holding. A long, lime green dress that would be at least knee length. On both sides of him he can hear the stero snickering of America and France. A quick glance from under his eyelashes tells England just who the sender was.

Japan smiles silently as he beams with unmistakable love and pride. And again- two weeks after it had happened- England feels the same ping of regret for having ran into the sleeping with the Asian nation's arms on that drunken one-night stand.

America now loves going to the meetings, and has ever since the whole dress fiasco started a weekly torture segment for England. Each week America bounces before the closed doors just like a small child waiting in anticipation before the Christmas tree. His blue eyes beaming as he tries to wait for England to appear around the corner. And each week the english nation feels himself become more and more ragged.

The week after the dress had been the meeting room being covered in pale pink tea roses. The arms and backs of each chair was transformed into a flowery mess as the flowers were braided around the thin arms. The normally dark green floor transformed into a pale pink mess from the petals that had been spread over the entire room. Germany had cursed in every language possible at the mess that the dying flowers had created as they spilt petals onto the table.

The next week it had been clippings of comics from newspapers from every nation that were scattered around the office- none of them giving the same meaning. Some of them gave a serious, opiniated view to the recent war, while others jokingly showed a cat trying to trick a dog into giving him a bone. Another one was a romantic scene of an elderly couple standing before a fountain. Another showing a family trying to take a trip and failing. Staring at all of the clippings- and after having to ask his fellow nations for the translations- England felt more confused then normal.

Then the next week had been a wedding dress display gone wrong. Even Germany- who cursed out each week of insaneness- had to laugh at the sickly green tint that the nation's face had taken when he stared at the dresses. On a folded card, in a beautiful script that was clearly Japan's read, "Choose the one you love the most. All of these would be beautiful on you." The dresses ranged from the most traditional (dating back to the 1950's) all the way to the most risky ones.

"I love this one England!" America shouts as he runs to a strapless white, lacy dress. The skirt- thankfully- was pure lace as it brushed along the carpet. Silver adornments sparkled in the bright office light.

England could only sigh as he hung his head trying to take his seat while ignoring the snickers and dresses that filled the room.

Now America can only stand before the door and try to guess what it would be for that day.

"Oh!" America is barely able to contain his excitement. "I bet it will be melted chocolate everywhere. The floors, chairs, table, ceiling!" With the excitement that a child holds while opening his Christmas presents the young nation tosses open the doors. Eyes widen in excitement as he smirks. "Well I was wrong but this is just as awesome."

A palm slaps his forehead as England tries to ignore his younger brother. Really was it that fun to watch him blush and stammer and send silently heated glares at Japan. He tries to ignore the other nation while weighing the pros and cons about leaving early and skipping the entire meeting.

Or he was about to…until he heard a sound that could only be described as a sick violin and flock of birds being tossed into a blender and beaten down until they were well blended in a undesirable mess. Even though he did not want to look England found himself unable to. Carefully he craned his neck around America. His jaw fell open at the sight before him.

Several emus and llamas were running around the table, chasing each other. One sat in France's chair as it ripped out the stuffing from the seat of the chair. A poor llama tripped over a chair as it tried to tackle a renegade emu that had relentlessly bit and chewed on its ear.

England feels his heart, stomach and brain all drop at the sight before him. The entire office is covered in crap, some of it freshly dripping. Wild animals running an amuck at the office. England really wishes for a second that he was not himself. Especially when he sees Germany storm towards the office.

It had taken them four hours to corner every last emu and llama; and another five just to clean the meeting room enough for them to feel as if they could sit down for a break. Every second of it had been pure torture for the poor nation as he tried to keep from allowing the anger flow to him, while giving knowing glances at Japan.

The night haunts him as England remembers the night that officially made his life become a living hell. He relives the same horror of his drunken one night stand and of the trouble it has cost him and everyone he knows.

Days are no better as England stares at the meeting doors. He has talked to Japan until he is blue in the face. Explained to the other man all about what one night stands meant. He has tried every language he can think of. And still, every day right on cue, when they open the locked doors to the room England stares in shock and horror at that week's love profession of love.

It has yet to be a normal heart shaped box of chocolates and a vase full of flowers. Silently everyday he hopes and prays that either there will be nothing there or it will be normal. But still- after weeks and weeks- America is still not disappointed as he tosses open the doors to all of the awaiting nations.

"YES!" America screams, his fist pumping in the air as he runs for the large table. "I knew if I waited long enough it would be chocolate furniture."

Again England face palms himself as he braces for Germany's weekly scolding. Out of the corner of his eye England tries to think again of yet another way to explain to the Asian nation that he did not love him. And again he swears off all alcohol (even vowing to throw out his bourbon battered fish).


End file.
